What Are You Muttering Through Your Lipstick?
by h0bbes
Summary: A collection of short drabbles.
1. zip

"What do you think?" is a loaded question, Alex knows. Cautiously, she walks into the living room of her flat where Gene has made himself at home. Beer in one hand, clicker in the other it looks positively domestic. He looks at her and it takes a moment for it to register on his face.

"You'll do," he says, casual. Like all the blood hadn't gone rushing southwards at the sight of those legs and oh Mary and Joseph the slit up the side. "Good. Can you…?" Laughable really, how fast he is up and standing next to her, hands guiding the zipper up her back. "There's a clasp, too; at the very top." He finds it without help. Alex, all done up, looks like she wants to say something before she remembers— he was married. Of course.

"I'll grab my purse and we can go, then."

"Right."

"Right."

Neither of them moves for a moment, just looking. "Come on Bols, get a move on. You'll make us late and I for one and not going to be the sod to miss the open bar." She sashays away from him then, smirk sliding onto her lips as she peeks at him from around the corner.


	2. drink

"You've gone absolutely daffy, Bols, if you think you can drink the Gene Genie cross-eyed." _Clink_ goes the shot glass upside down on the counter.

"I think I went mad a long time ago, Guv." Alex winces down the shot. _Clink_.

"Ain't that the truth." _clink._

"Shouldn't we be building a pyramid or something?" _clink._

"Too much work." Gene swishes the whiskey around his mouth a moment longer than should be allowed. _clink_.

"Figures." Alex mutters, beginning to despise whiskey. _Clink._

They're the last two in Luigi's, as per usual, and he's left the light on, just the one above them. Hoping that it will dry them out, or that they scurry away like a pair of drunken roaches. Eventually they will. When neither of them can forget why exactly they're sitting there with the good glasses and half eaten plates of spag bol.

"Nip of whiskey's good for you." _Clink._

"Then what's this then?" _Clink._

"Premt…preem…preventative measures, Bols." _Clink._

"Ah…" _Clink._ It doesn't burn so much on the way down, and she smiles lamely, thinking about how nice his hair looks in the dim light.


	3. break

Gene looks so hurt, and the way Jim runs his hand down her back triumphantly, Alex for a moment thinks she's made the wrong choice.

Molly's scarf, Molly's smell though is intoxicating and she clings to the fabric like it was her touchstone. And it was. "Goodbye, Gene." she manages softly. He doesn't respond. Keats guides her away, back down the street, whistling a merry tune.

She doesn't know why he has to rub it in. Alex feels crushed. They're around the corner before Jim notices her melancholia again, and puts his baby-soft hands on her cheeks. "Cheer up, Alex. None of this is your fault." She can't seem to meet his eyes. Jim kisses her on the forehead instead and tucks her into his arms.

Alex is about as helpless as a kitten and lets him. "Let's get you to your daughter, yeah? I know the place." One arm around his shoulders, Alex gets a glance at his watch as they pass under a streetlamp. 9:06 it says.

It's always 9:06.


	4. enamour

"It was a lovely wedding." Alex tells him, sounding slightly macabre. Looking up from where he was trying very hard to drain his glass via telepathy, Gene catches her staring over his shoulder, watching as little Shaz and Chris the wonderbread dance the night away. Still. Young love and all the poncey lovely dovey rubbish. Gene doesn't ever remember being that in love with a girl.

Alex however sounds like she's been wounded somehow and he doesn't know how much more he can take of her swaying back and forth in her chair.

So he swallows his pride. It's not easy. "Come on then." he says, offering his hand when he stands. "What." she says, it's not a question. She doesn't believe him.

"Do you want to _dance_, DI Drake?"

Realisation hits her and if he weren't so blood irritated it might have even made him smug. "Oh. Alright." She takes his hand, lets him drag her onto the dance floor. Doesn't even say anything as he puts his hand just a little closer to her backside than might be considered appropriate. Alex rests her head on his shoulder and mumbles along the words.

She smells like expensive perfume and wine. And flowers. Lots of flowers like the ones she still had in her hair from when she stood beside Shazzer at the altar. He likes it.

Well, up until she steps on his foot. Twice. "Oi." he says, "Get your clodhoppers out of my way, you dozy mare."

"Sorry, Guv." Alex is far too pleased with herself. "I'm not very good at dancing. Not this kind of dancing anyway."

If he had the courage to look her in the eye right now, they'd be dark and sparkling and expectant. When she leans in again she whispers in his ear. They make a hasty retreat from the floor, from the whole blood ballroom.

"Where do you think those two are going?" Chris whispers to Shaz. "Dunno." she lies, spinning the two of them around.


	5. pub

Blessed are those that find peace, never to cry again. Alex brims with tears as she walks into the pub, looking so small in her large coat all of the sudden (she's never been good at just walking away) but then someone holds the door open behind her and there is a large gust of wind. "Hurry up, Bols, it's cold out here."

Eyes wide as tea saucers she stumbles, looking at him as if he'd just emerged from the depths of hell (which isn't too far off the analogy she's sure). "Gene," she says and forgets the rest of what she's saying.

Then Alex has her face buried in his coat and is clinging to him like she'll never let him go (she won't). Familiar voices and there is a jukebox playing Bowie softly in the background.

She can hear Chris order them all a pint, hear Shaz laugh at something Ray has said but Alex is perfectly contend to thrive in Gene Hunt's arms until she rots away. He doesn't try to stop her, merely guides her back and she can feel the vibrations from his chest as he greets a group of people. Nelson. Annie.

"Alex." She looks up.

"Sam Tyler." she says, wiping at her watery red eyes, sniffling.

"Oh _great._ D'you now, I'm not quite sure this is heaven if I'm stuck with you two."

Alex laughs, taking his hand. "You better believe it, Guv."


	6. smoke

Fuck it, she thinks one way, and goes crazy. Why not? She's trapped in her own mind, perhaps railing against it will upset her from this torture and she can go home. Saving herself, one cancer stick at a time. Alex feels the need to justify herself like this when she does it, to quash the guilt down.

Never had Gene seen anyone feel so bad about asking for a cigarette.

He's not without his moments either, eyebrows trying very hard to climb into his hair line and he half asks her if she's sure before catching himself and shoves the pack into her hands. Figures that she's clumsy with them, like she's never done it before (that has to be a lie; everyone he knows has had a cigarette at least once in their life time) and she is well on her way to breaking his lighter before he takes it back and does it for her.

Gene deserves an award for not laughing at her the way Ray does when she sputters and coughs and moves to throw it out the window of the Quattro. "Don't you dare, Bols." he snarls and she looks like a kid with her hand in the biscuit tin. "You'll be wanting that later when our friends don't show up until arse o'clock in the morning." He means to say that if she wastes his fags he'll make her pick it up off the ground and finish it first. They're not cheap.

She puffs away like a manic chimney she does. They're all so amused that they dare not tell her that she's doing it wrong.


	7. 2008 I

"You're awfully young to be a copper," She speaks into the mirror of her car; staring at him in the back seat. Gene folds his arms across his chest and pouts, pouts because it's either that or scream. It's like he's on another bloody planet— he doesn't like it.


	8. 2008 II

"Cheer up, Bols, you look like someone's just shot your dog." Gene is remarkably well humoured about all of this. "That's DI Drake to you. Shall we start this again?" she looks so tired, he thinks, just going through the motions. Alex turns the tape recorder on again. "Tell us once more, Mr. Hunt— what exactly do you think happened to you?"


	9. spain

"I will _not._" Alex crosses her arms as she perches on the edge of the bed (R_ighteous cow,_ Gene thinks). "What's the bloody point of running off to Spain, then?"

"I told you I'd go with you. I didn't say I would wear _that._"

"Blimey, Bols, it's only a bathing suit."

"You and I have _very different_ ideas as to what a bathing suit is, then."


	10. keats

She goes from standing there holding the photographs to crying in his arms and Jim knows in that second that he's won. He's won and it's a strange feeling, a euphoric feeling that he's finally done it that he tucks her under his chin and just lets her cry it out. He needs her to do this, because later when Alex stands by his side Jim doesn't need weakness.

Gene Hunt is like a lion and he can smell it.

But, if Gene is a lion does that make him the noble hunter? And Alex? Alex is like a rifle, with her hands fisted firmly in his coat.

Jim wipes her eyes with his thumbs, smiling as he taps her nose. "There now. That's better, mm?"

"I can't believe he—"

"Shh, Alex. You don't need to say it. Not here. Wait."


	11. tardis

"What the bloody hell is that?"

"That would be a police call box."

"I'm not daft, Bols I know that. What's it doing in Fenchurch?"

Alex shrugs like she doesn't care, like she doesn't know what_ anything_ is doing in Fenchurch in 1982, but Gene just sits behind the wheel and stares at it. A man in a bowtie steps out, and a girl, and a curly haired bird twirling a water pistol and Gene thinks that's it; he's seen enough. "Oi!" He calls, getting out of the car.

Alex rolls her eyes, opening the passenger door, but stops and stares at them. She's seen that woman before…the dejavu gives her a headache.


	12. shaz

Alex starts to think of following Shaz as a game up until she starts crying on the bridge. That's it, is really dark, there's not one else around, she just stops and starts to sob. Then it's not a game anymore. So she calls out. "Shaz!"

She startles like a terrified kitten, arms flying everywhere. She drops the crumpled paper napkin from the pasty she'd bought on the way. "M-ma'am?" Shaz is trying her best to stop crying, to hide her face from her boss but the rest of her isn't having it.

Alex hugs her. It takes Shaz a moment to comprehend but she clings to Alex like she were drowning at sea. She's a petite little thing, Alex thinks as she pats her back and leans against the railing. Not much bigger than Molly.

But Molly was a growing girl.

Grown girl.

Growing girl?

Panic sets in, and Alex clings tighter to her. "It's alright, Shaz."

"No it's _not._" comes the muffled blubber. Unfortunately, she's quite right.


	13. elevate

"Elevate your leg you daft bastard and _take this off."_ Alex is three ways to Sunday snockered and has the strength of a rabbit when it comes to trying to pull his boots off. Gene yelps as she leans against his leg. "It's swollen Nurse Ratched, paws off." Swatting her away Alex lands on her bum in an unceremonious thump.

"You need…you need ice." she waggles a finger in his general direction but more towards his duplicate. She's seeing double. "I need another drink." he grumps, trying to reach for the bottle of scotch. Too far away for his fingers and Alex giggles as she crawls around the table to hold it away from him.

"S'what you get for falling up m'stairs."

"It's what I get for trying to get you home before you blither yourself to further insanity, Madam Fruitcake."

"What_ever._" Alex takes a swing and winces. "Give it here."

"Fight me for it, _limpy_."

"You've asked for it." Somehow he manhandles her around, half dragging half swearing until Drake sprawls herself in his lap holding the bottle high.

She screams (_laughs_) loud enough to wake Luigi, who is considerably less pleased to see the two of them together at four in the morning than he was eight hours previously.


	14. caroline

To Alex-that-was Caroline Price was a god. She was a menace and she was a fright. Alex-that-was spent more of her life pleasing the idea of Caroline, the thought of her. The memories of a six year old are hardly accurate or emotionally stable.

To Alex-that-is, mid-thirties and a mother herself Caroline is a different creature entirely. Alex-that-is wants to curl up to her, and cry. Caroline is as forceful as a hurricane, and fierce. Protective in a way that Alex-that-was never knew.

So when Alex-that-is cries in her arms (and not for the first time, mind you), Caroline embraces her fully, gently, and it only makes Alex cry harder.

"You keep apologizing, dear." She says, and strokes Alex's hair. Alex-that-was rages, lets go of her red balloon and runs away. Alex-that-is sniffles pathetically and smears blue eyeshadow around her face. "Sorry."

Caroline laughs.

This is all in her imagination she realizes too late. This wasn't real, she thinks. She screams her agony all the same into the pavement and feels the smoke and the heat of the exploded car as she rattles her knuckles bloody on the asphalt.


	15. gun

"Mary and Joseph, which blind nun taught you to shoot?"

Alex pretends that she can't hear Gene through the earphones and frowns at her little paper cut out. "How ever did you make DI?" he continues on, and she glares at him over her shoulder.

"I've never actually had to shoot anyone, Gene."

"What, never?"

Alex shakes her head. "I'm a psychologist. Most of my job has been behind a desk."

"Blimey why didn't you say so in the first place, the amount of gas I could have saved not having to cart your posh behind along with me sweeping up scum—"

"Shut up, Gene."

"Don't get all high and mighty on me, Madame Sulky Knickers." The paper is yanked out of her hands and crumpled up. "Do you want to learn how to properly shoot, now?"

"I know how to shoot."

"No you don't."

Alex protests but lets him put a hand on her elbow, and Gene's hands are almost uncharacteristically soft on her hips as he adjusts her. "There."

She hits the target every time. It's a copper's fantasy Alex tells herself later over drinks and paperwork. In her head this is just some cowboy fantasy. It has to be.


	16. smallhours

"Would you like one?"

Jim is ever the gentleman, and holds the pack out to her. Alex is laying on her stomach in his bed, head on the pillow, looking out the window before he grabs her attention. Alex looks at them a moment, scared, before she takes one and sits up. He lights it for her.

Alex wasn't much of a smoker. Tried it in uni for a bit, then gave it up. But she feels like she needs this one. Tries not to cough too much. Jim is very nice. He doesn't laugh at her, just lights one of his own and putters around, tossing her discarded knickers at her. She picks up his shirt, as well, missing a button as she does it up.

"What time is it?"

"Dunno."

"Your watch is on the nightstand."

"It's broken."

"Oh. Right."

They sit in silence, breathing smoke into the air.


	17. paint

"I said paint the walls, not your _face_ Bolly." Alex has been in the bathroom for five minutes now trying to rub the primer off her cheek. "I _was_ painting the walls, Gene. Until _you_ decided to paint _me_."

"Did not."

"Did too." she groused, throwing the cloth down. Little spots were left, clinging for dear life. Alex opens the door to find him leaning against the frame, arms folded against his chest and legs crossed. Even in loafers he towered over her which was a weird feeling.

She doesn't wear heels to paint. A fact that had caused much consternation when she'd shown up at his house in a ratty jumper and jeans.

He sniffs, rubs his nose. "You missed a spot."

"I know. Get back to work."

"Oi, Bossykecks this is my house."

"_And this is my afternoon off, now mush_." His eyebrows climb into his hairline. Dear god she's even starting to talk like him.

"Please move?" she tries again. Gene lets her pass, and Alex spends the rest of the day staring at white wall and trying to ignore that Gene has been looking at her face in consternation and not her ass.


	18. spy

Sam Tyler was a very good spy. Was.

Alex Drake is a good spy. She thinks. She hopes.

She questions it most days, sitting behind her desk. Sitting in Gene's car. Sitting in the briefing room staring at her new identity yet again. Most days Alex wonders if Gene knows what they've been trying to do to him the whole time.

Most days it feels like betrayal. Especially the ones where she wakes up in his bed, sheets around her waist and a large hand under her pyjama shirt seeking warmth and the smooth skin under it.

Gene is fascinated by the scar on her belly. A childhood accident she said, pulling her dress back down over it. Lie. C Section.

Alex Drake loves her job. Loves it, lives it, breathes it. But she hates this. There is nothing wrong with Gene she's starting to see.

Maybe Sam had figured out that too.

Maybe that's why they got rid of him.


End file.
